Spring and Autumn, Stars and Dust
by RustingAutumn
Summary: "It's better to burn out than fade away." A star guardian's is fated to collapse: giving even their last breath fighting for the first star. But when Dusty meets Soraka, will they both discover something not just worth dying for - but living for?


The tap on the shoulder wakes me up.

It takes me a minute to get my bearings, my hearing and sight fading back in slowly.

The teacher is droning on about the course outline.

I rub my eyes. Some indistinct blob of green is standing near me.

I rub my eyes again. My vision still isn't clearing.

I realize the problem and fumble for my pair of glasses, pushing them onto my nose.

The shape comes into focus: a tall girl stands before me, seafoam hair flows in gentle waves down to her knees. Her figure is dainty, covered by a white wool sweater with casual shorts. It barely downplays her ivory skin.

"Is this seat taken?" She asks.

I'm surprised she stood there this long. A quick glance reveals most of the seats at the back of the room are still empty. She must want a window seat.

"Help yourself." I offer.

She shuffles past me and sits down. Her wide wings dig into my side a bit. I consider shuffling our desks a bit further apart, before stealing a few glances: despite her dignified appearance, her long, soft ears look surprisingly enticing.

A sharp jab in my neck interrupts my thoughts. I turn around. Behind me is the ruffled, blond hair of Chris, who has probably chosen to sit behind me so he can bother me as much as possible.

"Look who finally made a girlfriend."

"If sitting next to someone counts as romance."

He smirks. I can't tell whether he's mocking me or not.

"Why do you think movie theatres and park benches are so popular?"

"I don't even know her name yet." I reply.

"Get to work, then."

I turn around.

Dusty is right: I should learn her name. Before I realize it, I'm staring again. The wind sways her curls gently, brushes the fur on her ears, and deposits a few autumn leaves tinged with yellow onto her head. She seems oblivious to it; She's busy gently flipping the pages of _Le Petit Prince_. I brush them off for her. The surprise startles her.

"Sorry, I just wanted to make sure the birds didn't mistake your hair for a tree…"

She looks away coyly. "Thanks..,"

She smiles gently, brushing aside a stray hair. A few leaves drift through the window past her.

"Are you new? I've never seen you before." I ask.

"Yes, I just moved in from.." Her voice trailed off.

A few moments of silence. I can't tell whether she doesn't want to say it or if she'd genuinely forgotten.

Chris breaks his way into the conversation.

"Well, wherever you're from, you're welcome here. You are?"

"Soraka."

"So you're from britain, then?" Chris asks.

I interject. "Soraka isn't a British name. British names are more like 'The Duke of Hamburg'."

"Isn't that a burger place?"

"That's Burger King." I say.

"Sounds British enough."

Soraka holds back a laugh.

"I'm sorry about Chris. God didn't distribute the gift of wisdom evenly."

Soraka smiles. "You two seem like good friends, though."

"I guess we're good friends." I say.

"Friends!" Chris shouts. "After all these years, only friends! What about the cold, restless nights we spent together, under the same starry night?"

Loud enough so that everyone in the room can hear.

"Please keep your voice down when discussing private matters, Chris."

The remark from the teacher shuts Chris up.

"Chris, can you phrase our sleepovers as six year olds a little differently?" I ask.

"Hmph." Chris turns his chair around to face directly away from me.

Soraka also turns away, suppressing the laughter with one hand.

At least one of us thinks this is funny.

"Umm… Soraka. If you want any help getting used to the school, let me know."

I scribble down my phone number and tuck it into her book.

"My name is Dusty, by the way."

Soraka smiles softly, but doesn't turn towards me, simply tucking the note into her backpack.

Then, she's back to reading stoically, like a statue. The leaves start piling on slowly again - a bluebird carrying a twig eyes her hair for a nest.

Looking at her, it felt like the fall had suddenly become spring.


End file.
